Latchkey
by Lady Cheshire
Summary: Two years after the Fischer job, Ariadne receives a visit from an old acquaintance. Extraction is an art, especially when the mark is one of your own.
1. Chapter 1

Ariadne pushed herself up on the very tips of her toes, straining to hook the wire of her newly framed photo onto the wall of her freshly painted apartment. Dimitriev's connections had paid off with quiet and cozy apartment in Oberkampf. Their house was nice, if a bit older. For all its flaws, she loved their new home. The strange threadbare blue carpet and fluffy black cat they had adopted reminded her of her small midwestern home, and Dimitriev had recently begun to teach her to play piano.

A small smile spread across her face as Ariadne felt the wire latch on to the small nail on her wall. After some slight adjustments she stepped back and beamed at her work.

The photo was from their visit to Athens. They had met his parents there last summer, and Dimitriev had shown her all of his favorite local places. He was Greek and studying Music in Paris. They met at one of the post-graduate socials and had become fast friends. Ariadne remembered the first night they had spent together - she had fallen asleep in his room while he puttered around on his piano.

The next morning, she had awoke to the sounds of Chopin and they went to her favorite creperie for breakfast.

Ariadne tilted her head at the photo at the reflection of outside buildings bouncing off the glass. Something about the light seemed to penetrate the photo and cut a severe line across the laughing faces. It seemed false.

Ariadne suddenly felt a searing feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Below her, the black ball of fur chirped, snapping her out of her cogitation.

The last year had been a blur, Ariadne comforted herself, shaking her head as she tidied up. She glanced nervously at the newly hung photo. It was no surprise the specifics of meeting Dimitriev's parents were escaping her. She had a mountain of homework to do, jobs to apply for, and a boyfriend to plan a future with.

Outside, the bright sunlight suddenly dipped behind a cloud.

* * *

A series of three abrupt knocks at her door nearly caused Ariadne to knock her coffee off of her drawing table. A glance at the clock on her desk proved just how engrossed she had become in her latest project. Steadying herself with a deep breath, Ariadne collected herself and went to the door.

She opened the door to a sight she had not seen in nearly two years - Complete with his typical three piece suit and ghostly smile.

"New scarf?" He asked.

* * *

Ariadne trailed behind Arthur as he politely took in her apartment, a delicate espresso cup in his hands. He carefully traced the outline of her living room first, touching a few objects with his hand and stopping to pet her cat - who, despite being suspicious at first, warmed to sensation of a strange and warm palm. Arthur sauntered past her coffee table, his fingertips brushing over the tips of chess pieces, haphazardly arranged on a dusty chessboard. He continued to take in smaller details of her apartment, all while wearing the same ghostly smile. His inspection led Ariadne to think he wanted to unnerve her, but she quickly brushed the suspicious thought away. Arthur stopped in front of the photo of her and Dimitriev.

"Vacation?"

"Yeah - his parents live in Athens."

"What do they do?" Arthur asked, his eyes trained evenly on the photo.

Ariadne paused, her mind filled with the blank space of the wall surrounding her photo.

"His mother's a journalist - his father's a lawyer," she answered at last, feeling that she had taken too much time to recall.

"When was this taken?" he asked, all politeness.

"Last summer," Ariadne responded quickly. Arthur looked over to her with a thoughtful glance and a mysterious smile that immediately caused Ariadne's face to burn red. She looked away and he took another sip of his espresso.

"Why are you-"

"So how long have you lived here?" Arthur interrupted, swiveling effortlessly away from the photo. Ariadne grit her teeth, but nonetheless followed him onto the balcony overlooking the busy sidewalk. She watched him as he leisurely leaned over the rail and absorbed the view, taking another modest sip from his espresso.

"A few weeks," Ariadne replied as soon as her irritation at his audacity had died down enough for her to reply. "The owner is a family friend of Dimitri's."

"Well-connected," Arthur added lightly. Ariadne scowled, finding his smile increasingly disingenuine.

"What are you doing here?" Ariadne asked frankly as she crossed her arms across her chest and faced him head on.

Arthur's mocking smile fell slightly and he paused for just a moment before speaking.

"Potential job offer. Consulting, mostly. Interested?"

"Consulting? Does that mean you have a new architect?" Ariadne blurted and Arthur's lips upturned slightly as he lazily returned to the view.

"Maybe. We're still vetting candidates."

"Am I among those candidates?"

Arthur shrugged, pursing his lips as he finished off the rest of his espresso. "It's a six month job and you're a graduate student."

Ariadne lowered her eyes.

"I'm-"

"The best." Arthur said, turning to her with growing seriousness but still idly resting against her balcony. "We know."

"The most qualified," Ariadne corrected sharply, raising her eyes heatedly to Arthur's.

That struck a chord.

The smug, knowing smile that had lingered on his lips since walking into her apartment dropped. She met his gaze evenly, even as the intensity of his stare caused her to flush red. It was just Arthur - a former colleague and mentor from an exciting time in her life that was over. Her life had taken a notably different turn. Now she had Dimitriev - quiet, intelligent, and distant - but loving. She had a promising future in Paris, a home, and a place in life. Arthur represented a fleeting dream she had left behind.

Still, there was something about the way he was looking at her now that made Ariadne feel like the exciting time in her life was not quite as far back in the past as she had thought. The soft intensity of his gaze was so fresh in her mind that when he opened his mouth to speak, she almost expected him to ask her for a quick kiss-

"I need to see your plans from the Fischer job."

Ariadne drew back slightly, suddenly realizing she had been staring at his lips.

"What?"

"The plans from the Fischer job," Arthur repeated firmly. "Do you still have them?"

"Of course."

"Show me," Arthur pushed past her and Ariadne felt a sinking feeling in her stomach bring her back to reality.

* * *

Ariadne pointedly avoided Arthur's gaze as she unfurled floor plans and retrieved grids from the closet in her cluttered and mostly unpacked office. He stood behind her stoically and Ariadne felt as though she were being evaluated on some behavioral examination.

"That's all of them," she sighed nostalgically at the items on her desk. He stepped forward to examine them and she immediately stepped back, trying to maintain her composure as Arthur pored over each of the items on her desk.

Outside, the clouds grew darker.

The twinge of nostalgia was growing into something more palpable. When her hands had touched the paper and styrofoam, the flood of memories was slowed to a trickle. She recalled the rush hour traffic jam downtown, the hotel lobby (again, she flushed pink), and the snowy secret base. All of her plans were there and accounted for, but somehow she felt the memory of the dream - of Cobb, Yusef, Eames, and even Arthur was clouded.

"Have you showed these to anyone else?" Arthur asked casually as the thumbed through a few of Ariadne's original maze sketches.

Ariadne heard an involuntary scoff escape her lips, earning her a questioning glance from Arthur.

"Am I trying your patience?" He inquired innocuously, turning his head to reveal the quirk of a smile tickling his lips.

"No."

"No?" Arthur asked, chortling slightly as he ran his hands over the scaled down maze of Paris.

"No," Ariadne answered coldly. "I haven't shown anyone."

"Not even. . .?" He asked tipping his head toward the living room, and Ariadne knew by the smirk on his face, the photo of her and Dimitriev in Athens. Ariadne gave him a seething look as she pushed her hands onto her hips. It was a clear enough 'fuck off' in Ariadne's mind, but the grim expression on Arthur's face told her he hadn't noticed.

"Did you show him?" He repeated gravely, turning around. His trademark smile once again completely vanished.

"Of course not," Ariadne snapped. "As far as he knows or cares, these are mock-ups for my first year exams."

"You're sure of that?" he asked calmly.

"Arthur," Ariadne started impatiently. "I didn't think I'd ever have to explain this to you - but I would never, ever show anyone those blueprints."

Ariadne watched as Arthur's shoulders relaxed ever so slightly as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his slacks and leaned back against her cluttered desk.

"I know, but I have to establish a chain of custody with these jobs, particularly the Fischer job," he explained peaceably. "It's for the safety of the team."

Ariadne's expression softened in disbelief as she connected the dots. There was no job.

He'd come into her home as if to check in on her and see how she was doing and she - like the naive idiot that she was - thought that he might actually be interested in having her on the team again. She was starting to think that maybe he missed her presence, but of course he didn't. He wanted to make sure that she'd kept her mouth shut after the Fischer job.

He was here to ensure that she wasn't a containment risk.

"Right," She acknowledged numbly, the strange irritation in her chest moving past a simmer into a full on boil.

Trembling, Ariadne drew in a deep breath.

"Was there anything else, Arthur?"

She barely caught the downcast expression in Arthur's eyes before he withdrew his hands from his pockets. As he did so, his wrist brushed against a snow globe sitting atop her desk. It fell heavily to the ground and shattered into a dozen pieces.

"I'm sorry," Arthur apologized lowly. "How can I help?"

"Leave," Ariadne said simply.

A heavy silence blanketed the room, and outside a loud clap of thunder announced the arrival of an unexpected rainstorm. Ariadne jumped as the lights in her office flickered. Arthur looked up at the swinging ceiling lights carefully as he clarified:

"You want me to leave."

"I think that would be best," Ariadne replied, trembling. She turned out of the room and went to fetch a dustpan. When she returned, Arthur was carefully stowing away the plans and models back into her closet. Still fuming, Ariadne deposited her dustpan on a nearby chair and led him to the door. Ariadne began to close the door after him, but jumped when she felt him push his way back in.

"By the way - Your bishop's missing."

Her heart beat loudly in her throat.

"What?" Ariadne murmured, her eyes searching his in sudden fear.

"Your chess set," Arthur gestured easily to her coffee table. "It's missing a bishop."

Ariadne looked over, a strange tingling sensation spreading through her chest, as her eyes combed the board for a certain white bishop. Her search came up short.

"It was nice to see you again, Ariadne."

She whipped around at his voice, but Arthur had already vanished.

Ariadne slammed the door, upset at the missing bishop on her chessboard and the seed of doubt growing in her mind.


	2. Chapter 2

Her office lay in disarray.

Ariadne blinked, eyes puffy and red from the lack of sleep.

A glance at the clock told Ariadne it was half-past three. Dimitriev had not called to let her know he would be in late, but she suspected he was out with his friends. Outside, the storm had subsided, but the news channels were warning Parisians to stay inside.

The books they had just put on the shelves were now in heaps on the floor. The closet, desk, even Ariadne and Dimitriev's bedroom, had been emptied and scoured. A trove of papers, knick-knacks, and office supplies surrounded Ariadne as she scanned each item in hopelessness.

Her bishop was gone. How could she have been so careless? Did she lose it in the move? Had she hidden it after returning to Paris after the Fischer job?

"No," Ariadne murmured aloud, shaking her head. It meant too much to her - she would have never been so careless. Even if she had hidden it out of sight, she would have remembered where.

She heard the sound of a key turning in the lock.

"Ariadne?" Dimitriev's thick Greek voice reached her just as she stood up. His dark eyes wildly combed the office before he leaped over to her.

"What the hell happened in here?" He whispered harshly, pressing his hands to her cheeks. "Are you all right?"

"I. . . I think I lost something-"

"What?" Dimitriev exclaimed. "What did you lose?"

"I. . . It's a token, a souvenir, Dimitri."

He gaped at her in disbelief.

"What the hell do you _absolutely_ have to find in four the damn morning?" he demanded, his voice escalating.

"Its my tot-" Ariadne sucked in deep breath. "Tote," she finished lamely as Dimitriev's expression grew more perplexed.

"You tore apart our apartment looking for a _tote_?" Dimitriev asked softly, his eyes growing dark.

Ariadne nodded timidly, watching her boyfriend's angry expression diminish to something resembling regret.

Dimitriev sighed.

"I'm sorry, darling," he whispered, drawing her into his arms. "This is my fault. I haven't been around to help as much as I should have been. I know you're working overtime with school and getting us settled here. You need to rest,"

"I-"

"My sweet girl. You've been running yourself ragged all week - get a few hours of sleep, please," he whispered in her ear, stroking her hair.

"I need to-" Ariadne murmured softly into his shoulder.

"Stop being so stubborn, for once. Look, I can help you look for it tomorrow, yes?" He said, taking her hand and guiding her into the bedroom. "First thing. I'm sure your little tote is around here somewhere. Once we find it, I'll take you to Le Petit Tour. It's a plan, right?"

At some point he had led her to bed and was pulling the blankets up around her as he spoke.

"Sleep, darling," Dimitriev ordered, placing a warm hand on her forehead. In the darkness of the room, illuminated only very faintly by a distant streetlight, Ariadne swore she saw the familiar flash of Eames smirk pass over Dimitriev's features. Despite the sting of panic she felt for a moment, a second glance was impossible as Ariadne felt herself slip into sleep's waiting embrace.

* * *

Ariadne stopped in front of the curved building. The glass was sea-green, the color of the Chicago River. She tilted her head.

"333 Wacker Drive," she murmured. She looked around her, squinting at the empty city. Experimental architecture loomed all around her. Chicago was a laboratory, her father once told her. After the great fire, there were no rules. Only visions, dreams-

She kept walking.

At some point, he joined her.

"And that one? The weird one?" He asked, gently grasping her arm and pulling her to a stop. They craned their necks up and Ariadne smiled.

"Chicago Tribune," she answered easily.

"Style?"

"Neo-Gothic. Isn't it obvious?"

"I'm not the architect," he smiled sheepishly in response.

Ariadne shook her head, smiling down at the sidewalk.

They continued walking together, the silence all around them making the clicking of their heels sharper than a knife. At some point, he reached for her hand and she happily laced her fingers with his.

"What about this one? The one that looks like a whisky flask?" he pointed to a strange and dark building with copper colored curves.

"Lake Point Tower," she responded, scrunching her eyebrows. She turned around, watching the deep hue of the Chicago River ebb and flow.

"Something wrong?" He asked lightly. She met his playful glance questioningly before looking back up to the skyscraper.

"It's not supposed to be here," Ariadne answered softly, puzzled. She looked around herself again. "It's on the Lakefront - by the Navy Pier. It's not supposed to be here."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Ariadne insisted, walking closer to the out of place skyscraper before turning back around. "I grew up around here - a few miles away, but I came here all my life. It's what made me want to be an architect," Ariadne rushed, her eyes desperately searching his.

"No. . . No, a hotel should be here," she murmured, looking around for a lost building, as though she might find it somewhere, laying on its side.

"A hotel?" He repeated.

"The River Hotel, 1928."

Before her eyes, Lake Point Tower began to collapse. It tumbled, floor by floor, to the ground where they stood. Ariadne watched in disbelief as the bricks and mortar soared past them. She turned to meet his eyes and realized that he had been watching her the entire time. Soon, there was a blank space in downtown Chicago where Lake Point had been.

"Looks like you've got a hotel to find," he said softly. Ariadne turned to meet him, and had the wind violently knocked out of her as Arthur threw his weight into her and sent them both plunging into the Chicago River-

* * *

Ariadne tore at the blankets around her waist, feeling the hit burn into her stomach. Gasping, she steadied herself. She was back in her apartment on Oberkampf, her friendly black cat sitting on the windowsill carefully observing her. Willing her heart to slow, Ariadne noticed a neatly folded piece of paper atop Dimitriev's pillow and carefully picked it up.

 _Went to Le Petit Tour for your crepes - wasn't able to find your tote. Let's look together (wine will help). J'taime - D_

She set the note down, the uneasiness in her mind playing out through the storm still rumbling outside her window.

"Hotel," she remembered.

Arthur's appearance was strange enough to cause a dream, but Ariadne had not had a dream that clear since the Fischer job. Not that that was extremely abnormal, she had never really remembered any of her dreams before the job. Somehow, she thought she would at least remember them after that experience. She shook her head, trying to shake the words Arthur and hotel from her mind. Was it possible-

She paled.

Ariadne threw off the covers and rushed to her office, tripping through the clutter between her and the closet. She furiously pulled down her plans from the top shelf, searching desperately for one layout. Ariadne unrolled the city street and the snowscape, but the hotel floor map from the Fischer job was glaringly absent.

"Shit," she murmured, recalling Arthur's uncharacteristic clumsiness in knocking over her snowglobe.

" _Shit_ ," Ariadne repeated louder, remembering how she left him _alone_ to get the dustpan to clean up the mess.

Arthur had stolen her plans right out from under her nose.


	3. Chapter 3

Ariadne snatched her keys from the kitchen table and bounded out of her apartment, fleetingly grateful that she had not changed out of her jeans and t-shirt from last night and thus had no qualms about leaving her apartment in her current state.

Logic came and went like a sieve in Ariadne's brain.

She had never driven a car in Paris before, and this was perhaps the worst week to do so considering the tempestuous conditions. Ariadne sprinted down the spiral stairwell and rushed into the parking garage where Dimitriev's small compact was parked. She opened the door, turned the key, and realized she had no idea where Arthur was.

"Oh, God," Ariadne moaned dropping her head on the steering wheel. In an enormous city like Paris, Arthur could be anywhere. It dawned her that he could be far gone from France by now. He could have easily hopped a flight to L.A., Abu Dhabi, Tokyo; there was no where he couldn't be.

Her pocket buzzed.

The word _restricted_ lit up the screen.

"Hello?" She answered shakily.

"Find that bishop yet?"

His voice sent Ariadne into a deep freeze.

"Arthur," she said, trying to keep the quiver out of her voice. "You made your point."

"What point is that, Ariadne?"

"That I'm an unsuitable architect for letting you walk out of my apartment with my plans," Ariadne snapped.

"Letting me in in the first place was the mistake, Ariadne."

"Give me back my plans."

"Why don't you come and get them yourself?"

Stunned, Ariadne shook her head.

"Is this a game for you? Are you enjoying toying with me?"

The line went quiet, and just when Ariadne was beginning to suspect that Arthur was wearing a smug grin on the other end, she heard the grim edge in his voice.

"Meet me in ten minutes at the warehouse where we worked on the Fischer job. Do you remember it?"

Ariadne ended the call in response. She put the car in gear, and tore out of the parking garage.

* * *

Despite not having driven in Paris before, Ariadne easily maneuvered the streets of the historic city. The hammering rain did not do much for her shot nerves, but she still managed to utilize her knowledge of all of the narrow alleys and lesser known side streets to her advantage.

She had built iterations of Paris for Arthur during their prep for the Fischer job, each one containing one of Arthur's carefully crafted lessons in shared dreaming. In one instance, he had asked her to create a shortcut from Montmartre to the Seine, and Ariadne, feeling playful, had dreamed up a scooter about three sizes too small for Arthur's tall frame. He had quirked his eyebrows in amusement, and without a word, had jumped on the scooter and sputtered away awkwardly toward the Seine.

Ariadne would have smiled at the memory, but there were knots tightening in her stomach, and a sharp fear that things were only about to get worse. Ariadne parked the car and made a dash for the stairwell leading up to the floor where Arthur was waiting: An Arthur completely different than the one she had known two years ago.

She opened the door to the work room where she and the team had spent so many of their nights planning and postulating. She felt no nostalgia, just a strange mix of fear and anger as Arthur stood silently in the center of the room, his eyes patiently trained on Ariadne.

Ariadne stepped into the room, trying to appear three sizes bigger than she was.

"All right, Arthur," she said nervously, not quite closing the large distance between them. "I'm here. Now give me back the plans."

Arthur followed her for a moment before returning to his eyes to the entrance of the room. Then, without warning, he raised his arm and brandished a gun from his suit pocket.

Ariadne tensed and stepped back instinctively.

Arthur's eyes flickered to her for a moment before his finger squeezed the trigger and aimed a single bullet into the black space of the door from which Ariadne had just entered.

A cry of pain, then suddenly, the sounds of a struggle.

Ariadne's knees buckled as Dimitriev was sent sprawling into the room. He writhed in pain on the floor, a gunshot wound marring his left shoulder. Behind him, a somewhat ruffled Eames sauntered in. She immediately started for Dimitriev-

"Don't."

Ariadne froze and turned to meet Arthur, still not quite believing the hiss-like command had come from him. His gun was now pointed directly at her.

"Arthur-" she murmured, aghast.

"Stay right where you are," Arthur enunciated, eyes locking on Dimitriev. He made a beeline for Dimitriev and fired another bullet, close range, into the wounded man's knee. Ariadne defied Arthur's previous order and made a dash toward her boyfriend, but was sharply blocked by Eames's towering figure.

"Been awhile, eh, Ariadne?" He acknowledged as she looked up at him in fright. "So sorry about this - can't have you pulling any heroics, though."

Ariadne furiously fought against Eames as he effortlessly pulled her against him. He twisted her arms back firmly and held her in place as Arthur coldly descended on Dimitriev. Helpless in Eames' vice-like hold, Ariadne felt tears prick her eyes as Dimitriev gurgled out another pained cry.

"Stop, Arthur!" she shouted, flailing against Eames. "He's got nothing to do with this!"

"Where is it?" Arthur asked professionally, gun pointed at Dimitriev's forehead.

"I don't know," Dimitriev gasped. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Please, Arthur, please," Ariadne implored, tears streaming down her face. "I'll tell you anything you want, just let him go. He doesn't know anything-"

Arthur responded by emptying another bullet into Dimitriev's unwounded shoulder. Ariadne screamed.

Eames tightened his grip around her.

"How do you want to do this?" Arthur asked Dimitriev quietly. He spared a quick glance at Ariadne and quickly looked away to reload. Ariadne felt fresh tears well up behind her eyes. She was pathetic and a poor excuse for an architect, but she couldn't let Dimitriev suffer for her mistakes.

"Tell me where it is, and I can make you a deal. Don't tell me where it is, and you're on your own," Arthur said coolly.

Dimitriev shook his head, muttering.

Arthur leveled the barrel of the gun to Dimitriev's hand.

"No, Arthur, please stop-"

"Wait!" Dimitriev shouted, putting his hands into the air. "Wait!"

The point man withdrew his arm slightly.

"What kind of deal?" Dimitriev asked quietly, panting from the pain.

"We can mediate the consequences," Arthur said crisply. "Or we can step aside and let our employers fight over who gets your head. Whichever you prefer."

Ariadne looked on bewildered as Dimitriev seemed to honestly weigh his options.

"What will it be?" Arthur pressed, Dimitriev's hand once again in the crosshairs of his gun.

"Let's talk," Dimitriev said hoarsely.

* * *

Ariadne gazed out of the window from the backseat Dimitriev's car. Eames was silent in the driver's seat, navigating the road through the raging storm. Arthur and Dimitriev were in the car ahead of them, and Ariadne could only assume that Arthur had immobilized him somehow. Soon after Dimitriev's strange exchange with Arthur, the two had disappeared down the stairwell. Eames had released her from his grip long enough to bind her hands and march her down to the parking garage.

They had arrived just as Arthur was pushing Dimitriev into the backseat, and from the looks of it, Arthur had not applied any delicacy in incapacitating her boyfriend.

She caught his gaze just as Eames gently guided her into the backseat, and Ariadne swore she had seen a flash of regret pass over his eyes before he pivoted away and got into the driver's seat.

"Where are we going, Eames?" she asked listlessly.

"Damned if I know," he responded, squinting at the road. "Hell of a storm, eh?"

"Is someone going to tell me what the hell is going on?" Ariadne said loudly, her patience lost. "Over the past two days, I've had Arthur come into my home, steal my plans, tell me I've lost my bishop, lead me to drive a car I have no business driving through Paris, and maim my boyfriend, and yet no one cares to give me an explanation."

Eames flashed her a look in the rear-view mirror and for a few moments, the only sound to be heard was the violent rain hitting against the car and the embattled windshield wipers furiously waving back and forth.

"Lost your _totem_? Tsk, tsk."

Ariadne closed her eyes in frustration and let her head hit against the window.

"In time, darling," she looked up to find Eames' eyes bouncing back at her in the mirror. "In good time."

* * *

Eventually, Eames pulled the car over and led Ariadne out. She noted that the car Arthur and Dimitriev had been in was parked close by. Ariadne scanned the street as a roll of thunder exploded in the dimming night sky.

"I've been here before," Ariadne murmured, looking up at the building before her. "This was Dimitriev's old apartment building. He used to live here before we moved in together."

"Let's go," Eames said, taking her by the elbow.

* * *

They climbed the stairs and Ariadne led them to Dimitriev's old apartment. The door was wide open and the floor was stained with splotches of blood. Ariadne grimaced and had to close her eyes. Eames pulled her into the bedroom where Arthur and Dimitriev were waiting.

Outside, a flash of lightening illuminated the dark room and Ariadne saw every detail of Dimitriev's unkempt old apartment. His small piano that he played Chopin for her on, the messy bed and terribly old navy duvet. His dusty bookshelf and piles of sheet music on an old mahogany desk.

All of it - unchanged from the night she first spent with him.

"Dimitri?" She whispered. "What is this. . . What's going on?"

Dimitriev refused to look at her.

Arthur roughly brought the gun to the wound on Dimitriev's shoulder, causing the latter to cry out in pain.

"Where is it?" Arthur pressed.

"Under the bed," Dimitriev responded lowly. "Should I get it now or would you like to shoot me again?"

"Nothing would make me happier," Arthur responded cordially, nudging him again. "Bring it out."

"I can't bend my knees, idiot. You shot me, remember?"

"Oh for God's sake, you pathetic little pillock," Eames said exasperatedly as he brandished a switchblade. Ariadne's eyes widened as he cut the ties around her hands and got on his hands and knees. When Eames stood up, Ariadne noticed a plain cardboard shoe box in his hands.

"Open it, Ariadne," Arthur said. It was the first time he had earnestly looked at her since coming into her apartment yesterday. It was the first time he sounded reassuring, and Ariadne could not help but want to trust him.

She took a deep breath as she raised a trembling hand and removed the lid of the box. Inside was a small, gold bishop.

A resounding burst of thunder was not enough to shake her out of her stupor.

There it was. . . and there it had been this whole time.

"Go ahead," Arthur said encouragingly. She met his gaze, and through the darkness could see the answer in his eyes. It did not stop her from seeking out the totem, and with a hard swallow, Ariadne reached her hand inside the box and took the bishop in her hand.

The weightlessness of tiny object hit her like a freight train. She had crafted it to be so much heavier than this, but here it was like holding air. The void signifier slipped from her hand and rattled onto the ground as Ariadne began to back out of the room.

Her love for Dimitri-

 _False_.

Her apartment on Oberkampf with the nameless black cat.

 _False._

The future she was building-

 _Wrong, wrong, wrong-_

She looked down at her hands which were trembling violently.

Arthur-

"Are we good here?" She distantly heard Eames. Ariadne looked up as Arthur gave him a curt nod, his eyes fixed on Ariadne.

"We're set," Arthur responded.

Eames pulled out a gun and pressed it against Dimitriev's temple.

"You've got a five second head-start, mate."

The bullet went cleanly through Dimitriev's skull. Ariadne flattened herself against the wall, gasping for air. Outside, the wind ripped at the old building, toppling bricks and shingles. Ariadne saw a tree as it was completely uprooted and set spiraling into the night sky.

A pang of sorrow filled her as she looked down at Dimitriev's body, but soon the feeling was replaced with anger and fear. She was a rat in someone else's maze, and it was falling apart and she was bound to be destroyed with it-

"Ariadne," Arthur said firmly.

"It's not real," Ariadne whispered to him frantically, tears burning in her eyes. "It was all a lie and I didn't question any of it . . . I've been living-"

The apartment building violently split in two, and Eames was pulled down the crevasse. Arthur hardly took note and stepped closer to Ariadne.

"Quick," he said softly, slipping his arm around her waist. "Give me a kiss."

He didn't wait for her to oblige him, but instead leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. Ariadne immediately lost track of her center of balance. Her surroundings broke away bit by bit until she saw a brilliant stroke of light from behind her closed eyes and then darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

A cacophony of gunfire brought her to the brink of consciousness. She heard the hushed murmur of voices and distant shouting before her surroundings were again filled with sputtering gunfire.

When opening her eyes and moving her arms proved futile, Ariadne felt panic spread through her body like poison. Ariadne fought back the warm and dark current of sleep that was pulling at the edges of her mind tried to focus on the faint blue hue clouding the lids of her eyes (dawn or dusk, she wasn't sure).

Another round of fire, this time much louder.

"Where's that bloody transport?"

She distinguished Eames' voice, sounding terse.

A window shattered nearby and Ariadne flinched as a sprinkling of glass brushed her face. Someone pulled her off of what Ariadne realized was a bed and positioned her on the ground. As she was lifted away, her sore muscles screamed in protest and Ariadne's matted hair clung to her neck. How long had she been in this place? Why couldn't she wake up?

"Five minutes," she heard after another wave of bullets. Arthur's voice rumbled next to her shoulder, and she heard the distinct sound of a clip being loaded into a gun. "Start moving out."

Ariadne redoubled her efforts to open her eyes.

She felt a warm hand encircle her ankle before giving her a firm jerk and Ariadne gasped, the sensation of falling like a hit to her stomach. She still couldn't open her eyes.

"Ariadne," Arthur said loudly above her, and Ariadne heard him snap his fingers just inches from her nose in rapid succession. "Ariadne, it's time to leave, wake up."

Ariadne strained to comply and managed to open her eyes just enough to make out Arthur's tall figure against the dimming light. She mouthed his name before her eyelids were pulled close again. A small object was slipped into her hand, and Ariadne felt Arthur close her fingers around it to form a tight fist.

"All right," he said shortly. "Get her out."

Ariadne forced her eyes to a half open as Eames hoisted her into his arms. She followed Arthur as he approached the window and crouched down before firing a few bullets out of the window. He wasn't coming with them.

"Arthur," she croaked, but her voice was drowned in gunfire. She tried to push away from Eames but found herself totally numb against him.

"Decided to rejoin the living, have we?" Eames chirped as he wheeled out of the room and made for the stairway. Ariadne felt a wave of nausea sweep over her as she realized they were in Dimitriev's apartment building. The same one she where she had fallen asleep. Were they-

"Dream?" she whispered hoarsely, mustering her strength to peer up at Eames.

"You tell me," Eames responded as he kicked in a door at the base of the stairs and exited to the street. A stinging cold dropped down on her and Ariadne felt snowflakes catch in her eyelashes. Winter? How could that be? It was still spring -

Her fist clenched the small object in her hand, and Ariadne felt the reassuring curves of her bishop press into her palm. Its shape and weight tailor fit to reality. Another wave of exhaustion rolled over her.

Ariadne's head rolled back against Eames just as he broke into a steady run.

* * *

When she came to, someone was rearranging her limbs.

There was a small lamp swinging over her head. Ariadne scrunched her forehead, squinting up at a blurry silhouette as it expertly threaded an IV tube above her. Ariadne glanced down and saw the needle in her arm just as her caretaker propped her head back onto a pillow. Ariadne looked around and realized she was in the back of a moving vehicle.

"Ariadne?" a calm voice called her name a warm hand touched her forehead. Ariadne winced, peering past the light.

"Yusuf?" she murmured, blinking slowly.

"Yes, good. I see that you can ball your fist," Yusuf said smilingly, squeezing her balled up hand gently. "That's a good start." Ariadne squeezed the bishop in her palm before swallowing.

"Where am I?"

She heard him give the IV bag a flick before picking up her wrist. Yusuf put a finger over her pulse for a moment before putting her arm back down to her side.

"We're taking you to a safehouse in the countryside. Just until things calm down a bit. How do you feel?" Yusuf asked quickly.

"Like I'm going to throw up," Ariadne moaned.

"Not in the car, if you please," she heard Eames call out sternly from the driver's seat.

"The nausea should wear off in a few hours," Yusuf said, ignoring Eames. "Can you lift your wrist?"

Ariadne gave him a small nod and summoned the energy to raise her arm a few inches. Soon, it began to violently shake from the effort and she dropped it with an exasperated exhale.

"What's wrong with me?" She asked him weakly.

"Let's talk about that later. You did very well," Yusuf comforted her as he layered another blanket on her and clicked off the light. "Everything is going to be all right, Ariadne. You need time to regain your strength. We should be at our destination in a few hours. Try to rest."

He squeezed her shoulder and climbed into the seat next to Eames. The two began conversing lowly and their voices reached Ariadne as mere murmurs. With the light now off, Ariadne could see the flurry of snow passing over the car as they rolled toward their destination. Arthur was not with them, nor did she suspect that she would be crossing paths with him again. Why had he not joined them? Where was he? What could he be doing?

"Where's Arthur?" she asked, suddenly feeling alert.

Save for the sound of the tires against the road, the car was silent.

"Don't worry," Eames answered, the smile in his voice carrying. "We haven't seen the last of our dear point-man."

She drifted off, feeling the listless undertow of sleep drag her down again. They were still driving when the sounds of a hushed argument roused Ariadne from a deep and dreamless sleep.

"We need to know where things stand."

"It's too soon," she heard Yusuf say urgently. "We just started countering the sedative and we still don't know what the residual effects are. The somnacin could cause irreparable damage-"

"If things start to look ugly, you can step in. It won't take long."

A long, drawn out pause followed.

"This is a bad idea, Eames."

"It's not my call, darling."

Disconnected and still dazed, Ariadne dropped off once again into unconsciousness.

* * *

She gazed up at the River Hotel, a small smile on her lips as a throng of people pushed past her. The wind barrelled down the canyon of skyscrapers. Even as her hair whipped around her, and the sky grew dark with clouds, Ariadne smiled. The hotel was back on the Chicago River where it belonged.

Ariadne turned easily as Arthur approached, his jacket slung casually over his shoulder.

"How does it look?"

Ariadne paused as she carefully surveyed the hotel.

"Fine, I think. Just one more thing I need to check."

Together, they walked through the crowds of people down to the Navy Pier. Ariadne felt a surge of confidence as she took Arthur's hand in hers. He smiled at her, his eyes squinting in delight. Soon, they arrived at the lakefront and Ariadne extended her arm and pointed to the top of the building with copper curves.

"Lakefront Point, back on the Michigan," Ariadne nodded with satisfaction. She turned to Arthur with a relaxed smile and he stepped toward her, an easy smile gracing his lips.

"Well?" he asked, catching her chin with his finger. "Everything in its rightful place?"

He was leaning down toward her, his sharp brown eyes relentlessly boring into her own. She felt his finger on her skin like a brand, and Ariadne released a small and sharp exhale as she nodded.

"Perfect," she breathed, her grin widening. "Everything is perfect."

Something swept across her neck.

Ariadne staggered back, her hands instinctively covering her neck. Arthur looked back at her blankly as he dropped the bloody knife to the ground. Ariadne stumbled and tripped to the ground, her hands stained red. He began to amble toward her and Ariadne felt the life draining from her as she watched his predatory approach through glassy eyes. Around her, a swarm of people carried on, some of them sending Ariadne curious glances as she bled out on the pier.

"Wrong," he said as he lifted a gun from his hip and aimed it squarely between her eyes.

* * *

Ariadne shot awake, her hands clutching her neck. She went for the IV tube in the crook of her elbow just as Yusuf descended on her.

"Easy, Ariadne. Please, let me get that for you," he rushed, gently easing her back onto her pillow. "Just breathe," he murmured as he began dialing the PASIV machine next to her and removed the needle from her arm.

Gasping, Ariadne took inventory of her surroundings. She was nestled into a large bed and someone had put a few sweaters over her. The rustic and sparsely decorated room was illuminated by the furiously falling snow. Her hair was matted to the back of her neck, and she felt the heat of a fever hit her full force as she watched Eames rise from a chair and move into the kitchen.

It was him - Eames was in her dream, wearing Arthur's face. Ariadne looked to Yusuf incredulously and he looked away quickly.

"Sorry," he said softly.

Through the doorway, she could see Eames pouring coffee.

"What the hell was that?" Ariadne demanded, moving the heavy set of blankets off of her lap. Yusuf pushed her back down, muttering for her to take it easy. Suddenly feeling much stronger, Ariadne pushed him away and managed to stand up next to the bed without leaning on her colleague for support. In the kitchen, Eames set down the cup of coffee and began pouring another one.

"Eames," Ariadne repeated strictly. "What the hell was that?"

"A follow-up extraction, darling," Eames responded coldly. "A test."

Stunned, Ariadne fell back to the bed.

"In case you're wondering," Eames continued as he filled the third and final cup with coffee. "You failed. Almost as miserably as you did six months ago."


	5. Chapter 5

The wooden floors creaked slightly as Ariadne stepped into the sunroom of the old French farmhouse. The snow was thinning out a bit, and from a distance Ariadne could make out the shapes of rolling hills dusted in white. She hugged herself, a slight chill running over her despite having two oversized sweaters on. Behind her, Eames was mumbling to himself in the kitchen while Yusuf clicked on a work light in a small adjoining office. She walked by both of them wordlessly after waking from an uneasy sleep, and now Ariadne had no desire to close her eyes for a long time.

Where had she been six months ago?

 _Paris_ , her mind lied reflexively. _With Dimitriev-_

No, Ariadne forced her mind to re-calibrate. The thought fluttered away quickly, even as a twinge of discomfort passed over Ariadne's heart. The floor creaked again and Ariadne turned to meet Eames as he set down a tray of food and coffee onto the small table in the middle of the sunroom. The scent of bacon, eggs, toast, and cream caused Ariadne to tremble in hunger. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten. Eames nodded at her to sit and she tried not to seem too eager when she took a fork and knife into her hands. Before she could begin eating, Ariadne had to ask the question that had been on her mind since waking up in the safehouse.

"Who was he?" she murmured as Eames took a seat. He eyed her frankly before draping a napkin over his lap.

"First enjoy the authentic American breakfast I made just for you," Eames said, sipping his coffee. "And then I'll tell you."

* * *

Outside, the snowflakes dropped like feathers from the sky. Ariadne folded her hands on top of the table and lowered her head, her breakfast only half eaten. The reassuring weight of her bishop pressed against her from inside one of the sweater pockets.

 _Chemist,_ her brain repeated over and over.

The finest Exxoro had to offer, according to Eames. Not much in the way of other crucial skills such as architecture and forgery, but his sedatives more than made up for what he lacked in other departments. It explained why Ariadne remembered the party at the university and meeting Dimi-

Alfred Ponce, Ariadne sternly reiterated to her memory as she raised her head back and stared defiantly outside. He said he was studying Music. They became friends. She stayed at his apartment. He played piano for her. She fell asleep-

"I'm such an idiot," she whispered, unable to look at Eames.

"Yes," Eames agreed stoically. Ariadne looked sharply at him, cheeks reddening and Eames gave her a slight smile. "But for reasons other than Ponce. I'll get to that in a minute."

"What did he want from me?" She asked, trying to keep her voice toneless.

"Really, darling?" Eames opened his palms exasperatedly, smiling caustically. Ariadne bit her lip.

"Word travels fast among thieves. You'd be hard to come by an extractor who hasn't heard of the young and talented architect who worked up a three-level plan for the head of Proclus Global."

Ariadne shook her head in disbelief as Eames leaned forward in his seat and refilled Ariadne's coffee mug.

"Ponce wanted to demonstrate his capacity as a chemist to his masters at Exxoro. He wanted to show them he could put you under for weeks, even months, and parse out the plans in your mind. Once Exxoro heard that the mark was the lead architect on the Fischer job, they told him to 86 the job."

"Why?"

"Even high-rolling extractors know to stay clear of Saito and his contemporaries after the Fischer job," Eames explained carefully. "Don't misunderstand, love. There's a high price on each of our heads, but only for the most insane or ignorant."

"And Ponce?"

"He belonged to a third classification: belligerently arrogant. Once Exxoro heard he'd gone after you, the senior executives immediately disavowed him and came grovelling to Saito."

"I don't understand. What was he planning to do with my plans if Exxoro wasn't going to take him back?" Ariadne said, scowling.

"He thought he could take the plans and impress Saito. That, somehow, if Saito saw how he could pull the wool over your eyes, he would bow in admiration and give Ponce a revered position in the company.

"Clearly," Eames paused to take a bite of his toast. "That's not quite how Saito took it. At that point, however, we were already aware that you had gone missing, but just didn't have a lead on where to find you. Finding you was easy after Exxoro turned over Ponce's personal effects."

"How did you know I was missing?"

"Professor Miles called Arthur after you didn't show up to one of your classes. Looks like that perfect attendance record was good for something after all," Eames added dourly.

Ariadne shifted uncomfortably and Eames quirked an eyebrow.

"Speak up," he said pointedly, tracing the rim of his mug.

"How long?" Ariadne asked, feeling suddenly robust. "How long was I in there?"

"Almost a week," he responded as a matter of factly.

"A _week_?" she repeated, aghast.

"Ponces' charm could only get him so far," Eames continued, shrugging. "He needed a way to keep you in the dream without triggering your subconscious into unleashing projections."

"The sedative. . ." Ariadne trailed off, the dots slowly connecting in her mind.

"A very powerful spin on somnacin that Yusuf is still evaluating - so if he seems sour, you know why," Eames went on, nonplussed by Ariadne's increasingly pale expression.

"Ponce only needed one level to keep you under, which means the cocktail couldn't have been your run of the mill dream inducer. We'll know more in a few weeks. Right now, the only thing we can say for certain is that the formula numbs the subconscious from reacting to an extractor while keeping the dreamer in a comatose state."

In the background, Ariadne turned slightly as she heard the light tinkling sound of vials clicking together, followed by a foreign swear word uttered by Yusuf.

"Finding you was the easy part," Eames drawled on, lighting a cigarette and glancing at the storm outside. "Finding the safest way to get you out turned out to be the real challenge. That and dealing with Arthur's uncharacteristically nasty temper."

Ariadne met his glance quickly, but quickly looked back to her coffee when his smirk told her Eames was baiting her.

"How? How did you wake me up?"

"Ponce had so much confidence in the strength of his cocktail that he failed to put contingencies in place for lucid dreaming. Except for stashing your totem, he gets credit for that. His oversight happened to be a valuable loophole since we weren't sure what would happen if we-"

"Shot me?" Ariadne finished archly, glaring heatedly at the forger.

Eames' smile grew as he rolled his tongue in his mouth.

"Why, you've regained your sauciness," Eames said softly. "How lovely for me."

Ariadne found herself smiling.

"To your point," Eames went on. "We weren't sure if a bullet to the brain would wake you up or slingshot you to limbo. We still have no idea how the sedative works in that regard. Arthur figured the safest way to wake you was to induce lucid dreaming, but we could only do that if we pointed to the falseness of your surroundings. In order to do that, we needed Ponce to show us where he'd stashed your totem."

A burst of curiosity filled Ariadne's mind as she leaned forward. Eames mimicked her behavior with a slightly mocking smile, but Ariadne didn't mind.

"More questions? Certainly back to your nosy self, aren't we?"

"The storm? The one we drove through-"

"Your subconscious, fighting the sedative."

Ariadne lowered her lashes for a moment before returning her sharp gaze to Eames.

"It was you, not Ponce in the apartment that night, wasn't it?"

"Guilty," Eames said easily.

"The dream I had of Chicago with Arthur. . . you again?"

"If I've become good at one thing since meeting you, Ariadne," Eames grinned humorlessly. "It's been forging Arthur."

"The gunfire?" Ariadne pressed. "When I woke up I heard-"

"Exxoro associates, trying to smoke out Ponce and not making a terrible effort to avoid us."

"Where is he, Eames?"

"Ponce's fled to Spain-"

"I meant Arthur."

"I know," Eames countered slyly. "Arthur and Saito's men have followed him there. It won't take long to find him, rest assured. Ponce's inexperienced and full of himself. Now it's my turn to ask a question: Have you recalled yet what happened six months ago?"

Ariadne leaned back, furrowing her brow.

"The Fischer job," she murmured, her voice betraying her uncertainty.

"About a month after the Fischer job, darling. You received a call from Cobb insisting that you receive training against extractors. To my surprise, I was your first choice."

Ariadne went very still, the memory of her phone call to Eames rushing back to her. He'd asked her why she hadn't reached out to Arthur. He was the expert, Eames had told her, he could train her more thoroughly. Ariadne hadn't responded to his taunt, but the truth of the matter was she hadn't spoken to Arthur at all since the Fischer job. In the end, she was too embarrassed to call him for his help, worried he might get the wrong impression. With Eames she could focus.

"Do you remember now?" Eames voice was a jolt, and Ariadne took a steadying breath.

"Yes."

"Do you remember why you failed?"

"Follow-up test," Ariadne answered numbly, the memory coming back to her bit by bit. "You tried to extract something from me and you got through using a forgery of Arthur."

The room went silent, save for the distant tinkering sounds coming from Yusuf's workstation.

"Very easily," Eames answered. "It didn't work with anyone else. I forged your own family and closest friends. I even tried Cobb, Saito, Yusuf, and your subconscious tore me apart. Even when I walked in as my dashing and impeccably dressed self, I didn't last more than a few minutes. "

 _Letting me in in the first place was the mistake, Ariadne._

Ariadne paled as she recalled the conversation with Arthur during Ponce's elaborate dream. Eames continued, his voice escalating for the first time during their conversation.

"I _told you_ how dangerous it was to leave loopholes," Eames seethed. "To give anyone the green light to pass through your subconscious untouched."

Ariadne's heart began to palpitate furiously and Eames pushed on.

"When you didn't believe me, I demonstrated for you, quite viscerally you may recall, how disastrous it could be to leave him unmarked as a possible extractor. You wouldn't budge and now, six months later, here we are again."

"Arthur knows," Ariadne realized as the memory of Arthur's hands slashing her throat vividly playing on repeat in her mind.

"Of course," Eames said licking his lips.

"Regardless of what Ponce had conjured up, I knew Arthur would be able to get in. Naturally, he wanted to know _why_ he could get in, Ariadne. So I had to explain to him that, despite my high caliber tutelage, you were still allowing him free passage into your subconscious."

Ariadne crossed her arms across her chest, a sinking feeling in her stomach.

"He was not flattered, I can tell you that," Eames scoffed. "If you only knew the lectures I endured about not training you properly, not following up properly, not ensuring that you redlighted him, et cetera,"

"Ultimately, he came to acknowledge that no training either he nor I could have fathomed would have done a thing against our rogue chemist, "Eames sighed softly, waving his hands.

"So why the follow-up, Eames?" Ariadne snapped, startling Eames. "Why give me a test like that now, if there's nothing that could have been done?"

"Ponce happened to be the first, but he won't be the last extractor you come up against, Ariadne," Eames explained patiently. "Chances are their tricks won't be as sophisticated, but if you allow your subconscious to greenlight Arthur, a rival extractor will have no trouble using him against you."

"Believe me, my sweet girl. I would like nothing more than to return you to Paris and let you recover from the trauma you've just experienced. But you and I are here until you can convince me you're ready to arm your subconscious against Arthur."

Eames stood up to collect their dishes, his eyes level against Ariadne's incredulous expression.

"Point man's orders."


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur delicately plucked the needle from his arm as he met the questioning glance of Yusef. One calm, seething look from the point man, and the chemist turned on his heel and returned to his work station. Eames opened his eyes and Arthur knitted together something resembling a sentence, the sound of an angry mob and gunfire still fresh in his ears.

It was a carefully orchestrated disaster, starting with Eames the minute his forgery stepped out of an international terminal. Arthur had only seen projections act that fast in a select few jobs – none of which had ended in anything other than Arthur hiding out of sight of an ill-tempered employer.

"She's been trained," Arthur said standing up and popping his neck with deep restraint.

Eames blinked away the sleep lazily, closed his eyes, released a deep exhale, and removed the needle from his arm.

"Is that statement meant as a reminder – because it certainly couldn't be a question, not from the man who is supposed to know the mark's subconscious."

"I have a dossier on every extractor and trainer, on the books and off, and none of them showed up on her radar-"

"And Ponce was-"

"A sleeper-" Arthur stopped mid-sentence, watching Eames as the Brit turned away from him and rose from his moth-eaten chair and began to walk away. Arthur followed him slowly, features darkening in realization and behind them, the mark remained in deep sleep.

"It was you," Arthur stated softly. "You trained her."

Eames turned, his features uncommonly soft.

"Yes."

Arthur glanced at the window, the dimming light casting shadows all around them. In his peripherals, he saw Yusuf turn on a work light.

"Why-" Arthur looked down at his feet, shaking his head. He knew the answer to that. "When?"

Eames turned to face him fully now.

"About a month after Fischer," he answered.

"And you weren't doing anything else?" Arthur rolled back, a flash of uncharacteristic anger marring his features for a moment.

"Cobb insisted and she eventually caved," Eames continued, calling after him. "Not surprisingly, I was her first choice. I know what you're thinking, Arthur," Eames said sadly. "If you had trained her, none of us would be here."

"It doesn't matter."

Arthur and Eames turned sharply to Yusuf, calmly peering at them over his glasses.

"I've never seen a cocktail like this before," the chemist continued. "Training or no training, she's not getting out of there with nothing less than a hurricane force kick. Gravity's not going to be enough."

"We have to get past her projections first," Eames said frankly. "I will say it speaks to the damn fine job I did of training, seeing as we barely made it ten feet out of the international terminal at CDG before her projections recognized we didn't belong."

"You're going to need to forge someone else," Arthur said didactically. "Your damn fine training didn't do your forgery of her father any good."

"All true, I will yield. It needs to be someone she didn't red flag as a potential extractor to her subconscious in our training."

"Why the hell would you allow her to greenlight a possible extractor?"

"I didn't have much of a say, when it came to you."

Stunned, Arthur spun around and found his way into a dilapidated old chair.

"What?" Yusuf asked, shaking his head.

"Our best bet of getting to Ariadne is through Arthur."

"And why would that work, Eames?" Arthur murmured dangerously.

"As one who has extensively trained against extraction, you surely know that throughout our training and for a good portion after, I was not privy to any details about who she red flagged and who got the greenlight."

"So how do you know forging Arthur will work?" Yusuf asked, puzzled.

"Follow-up test," Arthur answered numbly, the realization dawning on him. "You tried to extract something from her and you got through to her – using a forgery of me."

"Very easily," Eames answered. "It didn't work with anyone else. I forged her own family and closest friends. I even tried Cobb, Saito, Yusuf, and her subconscious tore me apart. Even when I walked in as my dashing and impeccably dressed self, I didn't last more than a few minutes."

"And you thought that that little detail could go unaddressed," Arthur pressed.

"I tried, Arthur. I told her how dangerous it was to leave loopholes, to leave a way in. When she didn't believe me, I demonstrated for her, quite viscerally I might add, how disastrous it could be to leave you unmarked as a possible extractor. She wouldn't budge."

Arthur seethed, his regular eloquence stone dead as Eames punctuated his relentless narrative with a question.

"You haven't asked why she didn't reach out to you, Arthur. Why she didn't choose the point man to train her against extractors."

"I don't care."

"A convincing performance, one she banked on and mirrored by not calling you, not messaging you, and certainly not asking for your training expertise. All of which would establish a paper trail for extractors, Arthur. You've been in her dreams. She wasn't about to turn a strength into a weakness."

"Smart girl."

Again, they looked to Yusuf, who was smiling wryly. "She left you a way in, didn't she?"

"Indeed," Eames added. "You just need to give her a way out."

"Hurricane-strength," Yusuf reminded them grumpily.

"I think I have something," Arthur acquiesced reluctantly.

"Excellent!" Eames clapped his hands together jubilantly. "Now, we just need to sort out what to do with him."

The three looked over to the sleeping form of a dark haired stranger, sleeping in the chair next to Ariadne.

* * *

" _Basilica St. Dennis."_

Ariadne stirred in her seat, shaking off the dredges of an uneasy and shallow sleep, still tightly hugging a the bundled design plans to her chest. She glanced down at her watch and then quickly back up at the Metro stop before she gathered her things and exited the train.

An October chill had settled into Paris, and yet a slight tinge of humidity still clung to the air, causing Ariadne to shiver as she quickly moved toward her apartment. She suddenly remembered the explosive sound of gunfire mingling with snowflakes against her eyelashes as she reached her flat entrance. Without stopping her hurried pace, Ariadne clenched her eyes shut and gripped her totem as she continued to her flat.

Her time with Eames had been taxing on her nerves. Every day she gave the green light to Arthur's projections, the more visceral Eames was in reminding Ariadne of her mistakes. The last time Ariadne had let Arthur's form pass through her mind was a particularly powerful teaching moment. They were standing atop a non-descript skyscraper, as they had been so many times while preparing for the Fischer job. Eames, wearing Arthur's face, had turned to Ariadne and smiled, her impending fate sealed with the creases around his lips.

She had screwed up again.

Ariadne wrenched her eyes shut to prepare against the impending fall, her hair whipping against her face.

"You know, Ariadne," Eames' warm voice caused Ariadne to open her eyes. "It's possible to love someone without drawing them a infinite map of your mind."

He smiled, not as Arthur but as himself, as he pushed her over the ledge and Ariadne fell to the empty streets, her heart strong and leaden in her chest.

Her subconscious did not let Eames' projection of Arthur in again.

A month later, Eames had deposited her back in Paris with some money for a new apartment ( _Not_ Oberkampf) and a phone number in case she suspected another extractor was on her heels. It had taken some time for the strange numbness of it all to fall away, but with some persistence she had come awake again and had thrown herself headlong into her studies.

Ariadne turned the corner, before stepping back sharply, the air in her chest suddenly stuck to her throat.

It was another test. Clever, Eames-

No, Ariadne halted as her golden bishop dug truthfully into her palm. Not this time.

It was no dream.

Arthur stared back at her, the cold air revealing a soft exhale past the odd smile on his lips. Ariadne swallowed hard and scrambled to think of an appropriate greeting-

"Nice scarf," Arthur said, as though he knew this was the polite time to end her suffering. "Is it new?"

The golden bishop clattered to the shining pavement.

* * *

Ariadne relaxed back onto her sofa as Toulouse curled up into a ball on Arthur's lap. Arthur, unfazed, began to stroke the cat's black fur as he finished his tea.

"If I'm being honest, last winter ranks somewhere in the top five of the most challenging jobs I've taken," he said casually.

"Why?" Ariadne asked, instantly feeling the blood rush to her head upon hearing her own question. Maybe she didn't want to know the answer-

"Personal reasons," Arthur answered softly, looking pointedly at the purring ball of fur in his lap. "A lot of moving variables outside of my influence. Collaborating with others on matters where one considers themselves an expert can be difficult."

Ariadne nodded in understanding.

"I'm also a terrible bounty hunter," Arthur added lamely.

"And yet you managed to find me."

A darkness passed over Arthur's features and Ariadne realized he was recalling finding her in Ponce's apartment last year. Ariadne blushed.

"Why are you here, Arthur?" she asked gently.

"Why did you let me in, Ariadne?" Arthur responded with a crooked smile.

"Personal reasons," Ariadne answered faintly, picking at a stray thread on one of her sofa pillows.

Arthur remained expressionless.

"Look, it just happened, Arthur. Maybe I should have taken a lesson from Cobb and stopped trying to control my subconscious, but the point is that I made a mistake and I learned from it."

"Trusting someone isn't a mistake, Ariadne," Arthur said firmly after a short pause. "Trusting me isn't a mistake. Each of us has a subconscious that green lights someone in our lives - each of us could very easily be a target for extraction if our weaknesses are detected."

Ariadne blanched at the word weakness.

"What I don't understand," Arthur continued "Is why you didn't reach out to me. I could have-"

"No, Arthur," Ariadne quipped. "No one could have prepared me for Ponce."

"I could have stopped this, Ariadne. I couldn't do anything after he got to you, but if I'd known you needed training I would have stayed closer. I would have seen him for what he was."

Embarrassed, Ariadne fidgeted.

"I told you I made a mistake, Arthur-"

"This isn't about your judgement."

"Then why are you asking me why I made the call to Eames and not you?"

Now it was Arthur's turn to fidget. Annoyed, Toulouse popped off his lap and found a place on unoccupied space of the sofa.

"Because I was _waiting_ for the call, damn it. I was waiting for you to reach out to me because I couldn't contact you. I couldn't reach out to hear your voice because I couldn't live with myself if I got you tangled up in this line of work, Ariadne. I wanted to you to call because I couldn't."

"Arthur," Ariadne murmured. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that now that I'm sitting here across from you, I _know_ I could have trained you better than Eames because I haven't been able to get you out of my head since the Fischer job. I care about you, Ariadne. I would have made it impossible for you to walk into a dream unprepared to meet someone who might hurt you."

Ariadne felt a rush of relief fill every corner of her being - her feelings for Arthur weren't one-sided. This whole time he had been working out of sight to keep her from falling off into places unknown. He'd found her, devised a way to get her out, and pursued the extractor who nearly kept her under in a dream for an indefinite period of time. Across from her, Arthur's calm exterior was waning and Ariadne felt she should say something reassuring.

"So train me."

Arthur creased his eyebrows and Ariadne smiled.

"Eames already took care of that," Arthur said confidently.

"He took care of you, and my subconscious' habit to give you the green light," Ariadne stated. "But I could still use some help against extraction. If you can do a better job, point man," Ariadne stood up and crossed her arms. "Then why don't you prove it?"

Arthur shook his head as he smiled.

"You're on, architect."


End file.
